The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth

While she danced with Lennox, Elizabeth was aware of Darcy’s eyes on her – when she turned in his direction, he was always gazing darkly at her. Knowing the intensity of his affection made her feel very desirable, but she was also vexed with his behavior. She feared that his obvious jealousy would expose her to gossip and bring more scrutiny upon her family, the kind of scrutiny they could ill afford. And she was aware that his aunt had asked him to be discreet about his preference for her. Would Elizabeth now have to face his aunt’s wrath?

Lord Lennox was very complimentary of her dancing and her appearance. At every moment he seemed desirous of her good opinion, but she found it hard to focus on the conversation with him: her thoughts always returned to Darcy.

When the dance ended, Lennox thanked Elizabeth and kissed her hand, but Darcy appeared immediately to claim her for the next dance. Lennox gave an ironic little bow to Darcy before departing.

Da

rcy took her hand immediately. “I believe this is my dance.”

“William,” she said softly, “I thought your aunt wanted you to avoid showing me too much attention.”

“I do not care what my aunt thinks,” he growled. “I am my own man and want to dance with my wife.”

“Please keep your voice down!” She hissed.

The music started and they moved somewhat stiffly into to position. Elizabeth enjoyed this dance with Darcy less than the previous one. Although she still experienced a tingle wherever he touched her, she could tell his jealousy was getting the better of him. Perhaps this was the inevitable result of their constant need to avoid touching or otherwise betraying their affection. It was difficult to pretend to be almost strangers when she knew him so intimately.

As they danced, his hand lingered longer on her waist than it should and he held her hand in a way that was not quite proper. She noticed these moments time and again and was certain that anyone observing them would as well. Since Darcy had favored her with a second dance she would already be the subject of speculation. If only Darcy would be more discreet! She had no desire to make enemies among those guests who had hopes of him, since her family’s situation would already cause everyone to see her as a fortune hunter. They would gossip about her family and that would inevitably trigger talk about Lydia and Wickham. Oh, I never should have come! She thought miserably.

She greeted the end of the set with relief and relaxed instantly when Darcy escorted her from the dance floor. He did not relinquish her hand immediately, but instead said, “I think perhaps you should forgo dancing for the remainder of the evening. I would never forgive myself if you experienced a set-back in your recovery.” There was a sizeable crowd in their path, so they stopped where they were rather than return to her aunt and uncle.

“I thank you for your solicitude,” she returned, finally removing her hand from his. “But I feel perfectly well. And I very much enjoy dancing.”

Darcy leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “That is enough. I do not want you to fall ill again.” She stepped backward so he needed to speak aloud once more. “I am certain your doctor would not want you to be out at such a late hour, let alone engaging in vigorous activity,” he continued forcefully.

Elizabeth felt anger building inside her. She was well aware of the true reason he wished her to quit the dance floor, but knew she had done nothing to spark his jealousy; it was difficult not to resent these high-handed attempts to control her. If he wanted a meek and obedient wife, he had married the wrong woman!

Curious glances were turned in their direction; her anxiety grew as she considered how they were drawing attention to themselves. “Unless my doctor is here personally, I will have to depend upon my own judgment. Thank you for your concern,” she said coldly. Then she turned and stalked away to the room where they were serving beverages.

Darcy wanted to follow Elizabeth, but was aware of the eyes on him. Their conversation had been soft and brief, so he doubted that anyone nearby knew its substance, but he had no doubt the tension between them had been obvious to bystanders. He schooled his expression into one of indifference and told himself he could follow her in a few minutes when it would be less noticeable.

Casting about for a distraction, Darcy’s eyes found Fitzwilliam, who came over immediately. “Is there a problem? Your face has that dark look again.”

Darcy tried to make light of it. “Nothing of import. You know how Eliz—Miss Bennet and I are always sparring.”

“I see,” Fitzwilliam’s tone was carefully neutral. “Was she chastising you on your lack of manners again?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Darcy said stiffly. Fitzwilliam’s face was skeptical and Darcy recalled that his cousin was better at reading him than anyone else he knew. Sometimes that was an asset; however, at the moment it was a definite disadvantage. He had no desire to stay and undergo his cousin’s inquisition. “I do believe I will avail myself of some of your parents’ excellent punch,” he said and strode away.

However, when Darcy arrived in the punch room, Elizabeth was not there. He returned scanned the ballroom, but did not espy her. However, there were more than one hundred revelers; she could be buried in the crowd. Then Darcy noticed a door near the punch table that led to the terrace – following his instincts, he opened it and walked through. He did not notice Fitzwilliam follow him a moment later.

The terrace was quite large, running along one entire side of the house. The staff had set up a few torches outside, but it was not enough to illuminate the whole expanse, so much of the terrace was in shadows. Darcy scanned the area, noting a few other couples and clusters of partygoers cooling off and chatting in the relative quiet of the outside. Then, far down at one end he could barely make out a solitary woman’s figure. As he drew closer, he knew it was Elizabeth.

Elizabeth gazed into the darkness surrounding Matlock House, still seething with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. While part of her knew that jealousy was a common reaction for many men, she also knew that most married men at the ball were content to let their wives dance with other men. Why did Darcy have to treat her like his chattel? Was this a harbinger of future difficulties? That thought chilled her more than anything else.

Then Darcy’s figure loomed out of the darkness. His expression was unreadable to her; she could not ascertain if he was contrite or angry. “My love, I am sorry I let my jealousy get in the way of my better judgment. Can we put this unpleasantness behind us?” Now there was pain on his face.

He reached to put his arms around her and lean in for a kiss, but she pushed him away. She could smell the wine on his breath and suspected he had drunk more than usual as a means of enduring a trying night. “No we cannot!” She exclaimed with some heat. “It is not that simple to forget. I watched you dance with seven other women – all of them more elegant and wealthier than I, but I said nothing.”

“That bothered you?” Darcy asked, sounding surprised. Does he think that only he suffers from jealousy? She thought furiously. He even sounded a little pleased, which enraged her further. Again he tried to embrace her, but she turned away so her back was to him.

“Naturally it did!” Elizabeth stopped and swallowed, trying to modulate her tone. “But I know those women meant nothing to you. I know that you are not contemplating marrying them. And you know the same about me! I only danced with two other men all night and yet you do not trust me! Is this how it will be for the rest of our lives?”

This last question seemed to strike him forcefully, causing him to stop and consider his answer. “No, of course not. You are not my – my – possession!” Darcy put his hands on her shoulders to turn her in his direction, but Elizabeth stepped backward, breaking his hold on her.

“Then stop trying to grab me like I am something that belongs to you.” Darcy instantly dropped his arms. “I am guarded like some precious jewel – instead of being seen as a living, thinking woman. Why do you act so?”

As Darcy’s anger appeared to ebb. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes so he could think. “I should ask myself the same question. I do trust you, but….I suppose I am still insecure of your love for me.”